War Itself
by GloryOfBromacia
Summary: Hecarim remembers a faint piece of memory from his past, one that beckons to him. As he journeys to rediscover his past as a Darkin warrior, he discovers the sacrifices he had made. But was it truly worth it, forsaking his humanity to become the living incarnation of war? Would the Shadow of War turn his back on the Shadow Isles, his source of power, and embrace his humanity?
1. The Embodiment

Chapter Prologue : The Shadow of War

**"HECARIM!" **sounded Mordekaiser as he directed a silver gauntlet towards the Jungle. "The East Altar! Now!"

Neighing in obedience, Hecarim charged towards the bushes, tearing the foliage apart. The supernatural powers of the nexus had healing properties to all within the Twisted Treeline, so he personally did not mind. His mind set on a goal, Hecarim continued to advance towards the East turret, just enough to witness the enemy team jungler, Aatrox, attempting to seal it.

Upon noticing his opponent, Aatrox gave an inhuman cry of rage, and took up, descending a few feet before Hecarim. Wasting no time, Hecarim charged forward, giving his opponent no time to prepare for his initial onslaught. As the two mighty beings approached, Hecarim drove forward with a terrifying cackle, invoking in the power of the Shadow Isles to summon a dozen spectral riders that aligned beside him. Aatrox simply growled, standing his ground as he swept his unholy blade at the ghosts. Giving a cackle of glee, Hecarim willed the riders forward as their thundering hooves trampled Aatrox into submission. Hecarim's ability was as such that those in his presence would flee and cower in terror, and Aatrox, despite his immortal self, was no exception. The attack had taken a large chunk of his health away, and continuing his offensive, Hecarim pressed forward, swinging his halberd in a wide arc around him and scything the Darkin Blade.

There were a couple of unique champions in the League of Legends that were so powerful they had to be bound down by magics. For example, Hecarim and Mordekaiser were as such. They were supposedly immortal beings, and being invincible and invulnerable as undead, they powers had to bound so that although, due to their abilities, they would not feel pain, their abilities would be kept controlled by a "mana bar" and "cooldowns" that meant they could not tap into their endless stamina pool and use it at will. Even their invulnerability was denied in the Fields of Justice. A bar known as the "Health Bar" had been allocated to each of them so that when their health pool ran dry, they would be transported against their will to their "respawning" location. The period was one of disability and helplessness, watching your teammates being ravaged by the enemy team in guilt or sadness at being unable to join the fight of repelling the enemy away. All champions, needless to say, did not enjoy it, but the undead ones found it most unsettling. They had never been constrained by such limits before.

And that was the very theory that made Hecarim feel so unsettled about his opponent. Aatrox was capable of dealing insane amounts of "damage" to his "health bar" in a short period, and this time was not an exception. Tapping into his magic, Aatrox unleashed a blast of devastating magic that erupted from him, shrouding himself and dealing damage to Hecarim, forcing him to retreat. When Aatrox reemerged, his blade was thicker, and was shrouded with a set of mystical runes on the surface that glowed.

"No mere mortal can stand in the path of the Shadow Isles!" declared Hecarim as he spun his halberd at an inhuman speed, slashing his opponent. However, Aatrox was rapidly regenerating health with his "Blade of the Ruined King", a tool modelled after a former ruler of the Shadow Isles, whom Hecarim knew him all to well. His opponent at hand, however, was more of a matter to consider. Unwilling to sit in the way of Aatrox' suddenly empowered self, Hecarim activated his "Devastating Charge", an ability that allowed him to travel at a heightened speed. Sprinting away from Aatrox, he taunted the Darkin with a laugh of mockery as Aatrox, infuriated, launched himself after him in a relentless pursuit.

It was a mistake.

Upon seeing Aatrox's blade die down to its original size, Hecarim returned to finish his offensive with a deep roar, pushing back Aatrox. Cursing his disobedient legs, Aatrox remained, still not forsaking the opportunity to grab a potential kill on his foe. Hecarim stood his ground as well, unwilling to give way as the living embodiment of war. No avatar of war would turn to cowardice and flee from the battlefield, and it was better to die an honourable death than one plagued with treachery and dishonour.

Aatrox seemingly chuckled as they both advanced, each drawing their intimidating weapons with the grace and poise expected of legendary warriors. As one of the Darkin, he had witnessed and partaken massacres no less than the Avatar of War himself. His history dated back to Hecarim's himself. "Look at you, Avatar of War," he gloated. 'Was it worth your humanity, all your sacrifices, for this abominable self you have become?"

Hecarim stopped dead in his tracks, dark flames trailing from his eyes. "What do you know of my past, mortal? You are a mere warrior, and I am war itself. You are naught but a puppet in my hands."

"That may be true," Aatrox continued with a deceptive smile, his sinister grin only intriguing Hecarim. "I am nothing to the true War itself. but you are not the living embodiment of war. You are incapable of harnessing its true potential. If a mere warrior like myself can stand up to you, even in this home terrain you are so familiar with, do you still find it fitting to address you as War?"

The following words would forever remain in Hecarim's heart as Aatrox spoke it in the dark, remotely threatening voice of his.

"You are nothing but a shadow of war."

**HECARIM **paused.

He should have felt no pain, he was both physically and emotionally unable to grasp the subject. As the Embodiment of War, he was granted invulnerability to any forms of assault, be it on the mind or body. Yet pain was what he felt when he was mocked, made a fool of, taunted by a mere human that managed to go toe-to-toe with **him**, War itself. It first came as a foreign being within his body, a strange, quivering sensation taking over him as if his helmet was compressing the insides of his brain. Following that, a surge of uneasiness took place in his heart, where he found it most uncomfortable.**  
**

Mordekaiser had always spoken to the inhabitants of the Shadow Isles about his motto.

Fear is confusion, Pain is clarity.

At that moment, Hecarim felt as if he understood himself more then ever before.

"You. You know nothing, mortal."

"Why do you deny yourself your true form? Why do you still let the constraints of humanity prick at your heart?" Aatrox continued, while creeping ever closer to his opponent. "What are you, Hecarim? Were the rituals you completed worth it?"

"What do you know of my past, fool! Tell me!" roared the ethereal behemoth as he reared onto his hind legs, retaining a steady gaze on Aatrox.

"I can tell you," Aatrox said, his inhuman lips twisting themselves into a form that seemed remotely like a smile. "But you must trust me..."

A sudden blow across his torso returned Hecarim to reality. Aatrox had landed an empowered strike on him, one that had significantly sapped his hitpoints away from his "Health Bar". Roaring in fury, Hecarim rampaged forth with great strength, landing a blow squarely onto Aatrox and pushing him back. There. That advantage was all he needed. Taking advantage of his opponent's confusion, Hecarim summoned a crown of fire around him. Instantly, a wreath of ghostly blue flames appeared around him, flickering in the air and burning at the skin of his foe, turning them into grotesque black lumps of dead skin. Aatrox screamed in agony, attempting to dive away with his ability. Landing a few feet away from Hecarim, he ran for the safety of his turret.

That would not be so.

"Witness the might of the Shadow Isles!' Hecarim roared. "Pathetic human. You dare mock me, now you will pay for it!" With his passive "Rage" from his "Trinity Force" still on activation, Hecarim made use of the speed boost to promptly catch up with Aatrox. The Darkin's eyes widened as Hecarim launched himself into combat once more, and with a signature "Rampage", swung his halberd with such brutal force that it completely lopped off the Darkin's head like a knife slicing through butter.

A piercing screech echoed throughout the Shadow Isles as the head and body were bathed in a blue light and recalled back to their Nexus."Pitiful creature," Hecarim muttered under his breath. "Let his soul beg for release."

**HECARIM** stood on the East Altar, a magical monument that would supposedly bring blessings to his team if "sealed". Standing on the structure, Hecarim allowed the seconds to tick by before a deep exhale was heard from the altar. The altars were part of a forbidden area in the Shadow Isles, where the souls of two particularly dangerous prisoners were held. They had, in their own way, displeased the former King, and had been exiled to the remote corner, forever to live in solitude. Hecarim, however, was never one to laugh and gloat. With respect, he bowed before the altar, speaking in his guttural, deep voice:"I thank you for your services, m'lady. I must be on my way."

As if enlightened by the speech, the altar suddenly vibrated, threatening to throw Hecarim of balance. Taken unawares, Hecarim roared, swinging his halberd at imaginary enemies.

"Mordekaiser is **NOT** to be trusted, Hecarim!" a powerful voice of a female suddenly resonated from the altar, echoing in the shadowy forest.

"...What?"

"Mordekaiser is **NOT** to be trusted, Hecarim!"

"Mordekaiser is **NOT** to be trusted, Hecarim!"

"Mordekaiser is **NOT** to be trusted, Hecarim!"

And the voice went on and on, finally dying down with a tired sigh.

Hecarim stumbled back, confusion clouding his mind. Lord Mordekaiser was the one that had been the most happy to acknowledge his presence, both in the Shadow Isles and League of Legends. But the altar...what was it hinting? Mordekaiser was a father figure to everyone on the Island, predating even the Isles itself. None knew his true identity, but had nothing but respect for his powers. And his powers were enough to warrant that nobody dared disrespect him.

But Hecarim knew that the altar was never wrong. It had been there for untold millenium, before he had even set foot on the Isles, and only Mordekaiser knew of its true purpose. What was it suggesting?

**THE** rest of the game was easily dominated by Hecarim, Mordekaiser and Yorick. Despite his unnatural silence and unnerving looks, the often underestimated Gravedigger was enough of a powerhouse to defeat his lane opponent thoroughly. The other team, desperate to win, had been confused by different commands, and by the 15 minute mark, had surrendered. Hecarim was happy for his victory, the last of a series of "Provisional Matches" before he was allowed to join the League, but was nevertheless unnerved by his experience with Aatrox and the warning of the Altar.

Entering the grand hallway of the Fields of Justice, Hecarim was escorted by two bodyguards that looked at him with fear. They had trailed behind him for a considerable time already, and had it not been Mordekaiser's specific instructions that he should not kill anyone, he would already have unleashed his wrath onto the duo.

The magnificent doors of the Institute of War laid before him. Too frightened to even acknowledge their destination, the two guards had cowered at the back. Hecarim lifted his head, reading the message inscripted onto the polished marble above him.

"The strongest opponent lies within."

Hecarim cackled, a strange sound that somehow increased the intensity of the wreath of flames burning around his helmet.

"Then I have conquered my greatest foe already."

Yet when Hecarim said that, somehow, he doubted his own credibility.

**THE **"Doors of Acceptance" opened, the ornate structure unfolding itself for Hecarim to witness the grand spectacle before him.

There was Mordekaiser and Yorick, of course, his inseparable companions. They had a grave look plastered across their faces, although with a helmet permanently donned and the rest of his face shaded, Mordekaiser was always as such. Yorick was no exception. The melancholic Gravedigger had nothing but sadness within him.

The rest of the "Champions" looked at their newcomer. Hecarim recognised a few of them as well, actually. There was the "Purifier", a lightslinger that had tried to conquer the terrors of the Shadow Isles a couple of years back, staring at him intently with hatred and anger. And there was Thresh, the dreaded Chain Warden that somehow had a jolly smile patched onto his skull. Hecarim doubted the sadistic skeleton would ever rejoice at the addition of a new champion, even one from the Shadow Isles, but Thresh seemed to been genuinely happy. Perhaps it was because his mere presence beside Lucian made him so.

Hecarim continued viewing the rest of the "Champions" as the Chancellor, a prestiged human clothed in silk robes, stood beside him introducing the new champion. A few had already taken to distaste of him, humans that donned the colours of blue, white and gold. A banner recognised them as "Demacian". The "Noxians" stared on, unknowing of what to make of this new champion, while the "Ionians" looked at him with fear and dread. As for the others, they were not of human race. An unknown creature laid back on his weapon, an odd rod that glowed at the tip. While it was humanoid, its three bulging fingers convinced Hecarim otherwise. Hecarim recognised other powerhouses as well. A being of pure energy sizzled and fizzed, his aquamarine colour converting constantly between various shades of blue. He would have to be careful with this one. There was a canine-headed being as well that donned a form of armour alien to him.

But by far one of the most unnerving of spectacles was a champion bound by two summoners. Hecarim would later know his name as "Brand", and discover that he had slaughtered thousands of Demacian soldiers, similar to him, before the most powerful of magics were finally invoked in order to take him down. An inferno surrounded his humanoid figure, and his hands were bound by a form of mystical shackles. He was, perhaps, one of the most powerful in the Institute. That made Hecarim briefly wonder about the Institute. How had they managed to keep such powerful beings at their control, being served up to summoners at their whim and will? That was an answer he would have to seek for himself.

**EVENTUALLY**, the introduction session ended. Most champions expressed neutrality at the newcomer, leaving with a simple bow and handshake, such as the Ionians and the few "mercenary" champions such as the the six-eyed figure and the samurai. The Demacians left without a sound, clearly disturbed but bound by their honour. Even so, he had seen the Great Golden Warrior they addressed as "Prince Jarvan" openly scorn him. He had not said it out, his position as a prince guaranteed that. But his eyes had spoken as much. Aatrox, the champion he had trumped in combat earlier, stood at a corner of the room, watching the entire process with quiet amusement before trailing out of the room. He had not spoken either, but the Embodiment of War could sense fear in him. That usually happened in his presence.

The last remaining champions were those from the Shadow Isles, along with a few unrecognised ones. Yorick, forever sombre, had simply acknowledged his presence and trudged out without a sound. Thresh and Karthus simply filed out along with the rest while Elise looked at him with venom and malice. As the preacher of the Spider God, she had openly argued with him regarding the War as a virtue, and those had often ended in violent, short engagements.

**SORAKA **stared at the newcomer with intrigue, particularly at his equine body waist down. The sacred one had witnessed her fair share of uncommon Champions, but never one as unique as this. While his head seemed to be shrouded by a form of..."helmet", be it his exoskeleton or a vicious clothing, there were fumes trailing out of his armour that she had never felt before. It wasn't nearly as dark as the cruel tendrils of corruption engulfing Varus' lower body, but it was nothing like the holy aura that surrounded herself either. It seemed to be absolutely neutral in a sense.

As she watched the centaur trot away, his hooves pounding the ground, she hurriedly approached him, calling to him in a nervous tone.

"H...Hey!"

Hecarim turned at the sudden noise, unsheathing his halberd in a second and entering a combat stance. "Face death!" He called out in a battle cry as he reared, preparing to bring his might upon his supposed "assailant".

Upon seeing the Starchild, he abruptly stopped, returning to his previous posture although he still held the halberd with caution.

"Hmmph." Hecarim grunted as he narrowed his skeletal slits of eyes at Soraka. "What do you seek, mortal?"

"He-Hecarim, is it?" Soraka continued.

"Yes. Be quick, fool. I have no time to waste. Mortals like you won't even live to see your world destroyed."

"I...I wish to ask you about War."

Hecarim's eyes snapped shut and opened again, flames trailing out of them like mist. "What do **YOU** want to know about War, child?" he leered. "War is an unfathomable topic for those young of age.

"I have the wisdom of the Stars in me," rebutted Soraka fiercely. "And do not address me as a mere mortal! I am revered throughout all of Ionia as the Great Healer."

"Your "Ionians" are nothing compared to I, who have seen the rise and fall of civilisations for millenia. The petty squabbles your city-states engage in do not deserve the title of war. As for your healing, can you heal what is already dead? War is eternal. I have seen your "Ionian War", and if you think of it as a nightmare, the worst is yet to come."

"What...what is the worst?"

Hecarim snickered, facing the Starchild directly and boring into her eyes. "The shadow approaches. The Isles will reclaim their place as a civilisation, the greatest of all empires. Darkness will engulf the land, and little children like you will beg for release." Finally, with a wide, leering smile on his skeletal remains of a face, he stated. "Are you scared of Warwick, little child? He is nothing compared to the impending invasion. Your bones will be trampled to dust."

The incarnation of war turned his back to the Starchild, a maniacal laughter claiming him. "Beware," he stated," the coming of the Shadow Isles."

[]

So yeah, this is the end of the Prologue, 3000 words or so. Please do drop a review about how I'm doing, and stay tuned for what comes next!


	2. Remembrance

Chapter 1: Remembrance

**HECARIM** 's titanic figure made its way up the stairs, trampling the marble tiles that dissolved and left a black crater in his wake. He doubted the Institute would mind, for they had, after all, the foremost minds of magic with them.

He had come to the Institute not at a moment's whim, but after years of careful consideration. He had seen Mordekaiser arrive serval years ago at the Institute to spread the name of the Shadow Isles, and according to various sources, had made quite a name for himself. Mordekaiser's position as leader of the Isles had automatically warranted his arrival as the first champion representing his state. The leader of the Shadow Isles had intent to spread the iron grip of his rule beyond the secluded islands and to the rich continent of Runeterra. Karthus and Thresh went willingly, and Yorick abided by the rules of the Shadow Isles: follow whatever the leader requests. But what cause did he have to join...?

It was not because he detested war, no. As the avatar of War, his responsibility was to wage war, not to prevent it. However, what cause was there for Mordekaiser's expansion? He saw no reason to expand beyond the Shadow Isles. Besides, the sunlight of the mainland was obnoxiously bright, blinding to most undead. Most inhabitants of the Shadow Isles had spent weeks adapting to this, and those were the superior souls. If Yorick's ghouls, for example, were left exposed to light, it would rapidly decompose, and end its life within a short span of 5 seconds. How could his people survive?

Hecarim had followed Mordekaiser for untold generations. Since he had first set foot on the Shadow Isles thousands years ago, it was he that recruited the Deathsinger, Karthus, into their ranks, and it was he that exemplified the might of the Shadow Isles, crushing all "Purifiers" that dared lay their sight on purging the Shadow Isles. He had always followed Mordekaiser's commands, but now he doubted its purposes. He knew that an invasion as imminent, that even if he himself opposed the lord, there could be not stopping it. Mordekaiser always got his way, after all.

But the Institute of War was no mere force to be trifled with as well.

Mordekaiser's purpose of coming to the Institute was not merely to showcase the great power of the Shadow Isles, it was to "warn" Valorans of the impending doom they would face, so many times, again and again, that they would find it so repititive they would disown the idea of invasion on their shores altogether. And that was exactly what they wanted:an unprepared foe they could attack at will. But upon witnessing those in the Institute, he doubted it would be so easy.

And besides, their was always the questions about his identity that hounded him constantly, that stalked him like a set of hidden values. Who was he? Hecarim's mind whirled furiously, but his true identity had been lost to the darkness. Years of solitude in the Shadow Isles had ensured that, and since he had set foot on Valoran, he had an ominous feeling, an odd sensation that the humans knew as "deja vu": as if he had been here before. The invasion of this land simply revolted him, and he had refused to discuss it with Mordekaiser. Aatrox's mockery had further opened up another can of worms, as well the message by the East Altar. Who was he?

HECARIM found his chambers, a colossal field compared to the compounds of other champions. It was at least a hundred metres across, much to the envy of Thresh, who inhabited a thin, inhospitable stretch of land resembling a jail. The residences were designed especially for individual champions, but sometimes Hecarim felt they had misunderstood several.

Even so, he found his residence hospitable, at least. There were no overly bright materials to hinder him, nor was there any obnoxious "screams", unlike Thresh's "prison". Hecarim's spectral vambraces went to the book on the table.

-EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW IN THE INSTITUTE OF WAR-

Puffing out yet more smoke, Hecarim snorted as he flipped through the thick tome. Knowledge-Zilean, Librarian-Nasus, Restricted Champions-Brand, Cho'Gath, Nocturne, Renekton...,Healing-Soraka.

Hecarim stopped, squinting at the tiny page. Where had he seen that name before? A tiny line of neatly inscibed words caught his eye. "You can consult any of the names above for help regarding that subject". How very "helpful", thought Hecarim. They hadn't even bothered to have illustrations. How was he to know their identity?

Ah yes, he remembered. Soraka was that ignorant fool, the young girl that had approached him to welcome him. He had appreciated respect and politeness, but the ignorance of the girl had put him off. Even so, perhaps he was overly harsh. He still remembered the Eastern Altar's warning, and Aatrox's taunt as well. While his motive for coming to the Institute of War was to serve his lord, perhaps it was time to seek answers as well.

**ZILEAN**, as described in the book, was found in the library, alongside yet another Mystic the Book knew as "Ryze". They had froze in his presence, much to Hecarim's amusement. The duo had been enlightened by years of reading, yet it was the first time they had seen an unholy creature set foot into the library.

Unknowing of his purpose, Ryze shared a grim look with Zilean, who nodded gravely. They had guessed his motive as such, the word "war" associated with his name defined his actions. Yet the Avatar of War was not there for a fight.

Continuing forward, Hecarim addressed the duo with a scornful glance from his towering self, before stating:

"I seek the Librarian of the institute of War, Zilean the wise."

Zilean stepped forth, his face betraying his emotions.

"I am Zilean. Welcome...Avatar...to our humble library."

Hecarim chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "Your...building is...impressive. I would be unwise to dismiss it simply as an ordinary library."

"I suppose we haven't formally introduced ourself, Seeker. I am Zilean the Chronokeeper, recorder of time and sworn protector of this library. My companion is Ryze-"

"I know who you are." Hecarim stated, silencing him. "It is best to get to the matter at hand other than wasting unnecessary time."

"Of course. And you seek...?"

"The Darkin Tomes," he said simply.

Zilean exchanged a look of worry with his companion, before directing Hecarim to a room at the remote corner of the Library. "Come. We must talk in private."

**"THE **Darkin tomes have been lost for thousands of years, Avatar of War. You seek a tome that is filled with unorthodox means of magic, methods of slavery and history of cruel conquest. Why quest for such evil?" Zilean questioned.

"You understand not, Librarian. For millenia I have been eluded of my true identity, up till I met the Darkin Blade." Hecarim's eyes narrowed.

"Aatrox knew me, he knew me from the past. The look in his eyes...I have not seen them for very long, yet when I re-witness it, it seems all too...familiar. I have come to find if my true destiny lies with the Darkin."

Zilean sighed. "I cannot help you with this aspect, Avatar. The tomes have been lost for thousands of years, and should you be curious, it should be the Darkin Blade you approach, and not I. Being a Darkin, he is the one most familiar with the Tomes."

Hecarim bowed his head in resignation, sighing deeply. A spark then ignited in his eyes,bringing his sapphire flames back to life. "I have one final request, Librarian. How may i seek a change of name?"

Zilean was shocked. Nobody had consulted him regarding this matter, although he knew the answer. "Why..uhh...I cannot refresh you name in the Institute cockpit, but I can change your title."

"Meaning...?"

"If you no longer wish to be called the Avatar of War, I can change your title to one more fitting."

"The Shadow of War." Hecarim spoke instantly.

"The Shadow of War?" Zilean looked up from the magical scroll and quill pen he wielded.

"The Shadow of War," Hecarim confirmed, his eyes determined.

Until I remember what I truly am, Hecarim thought, or manage to harness my full potential, I am naught but a Shadow of War.

**HECARIM** left the Library, his hooves magnetised to a certain location. Where he went he was not certain, but he was confused. He didn't know his true identity.

For once, his mind was not thinking about War. The subject was still glorious in his mind, but it seemed to have been seconded by another, far more important thing: himself. He knew he could never seek Aatrox, the Darkin Blade was known to be a vengeful, petty fool that never forgave nor forget. He had learnt from a passing summoner that Aatrox was supposedly the one that had objected most strongly to the "Honorable Opponent" honor initiative. That left him with the East Altar, a being he was not even sure whether or not he could consult. He had asked the summoner on how to visit the Twisted Treeline, but he had only asked him to consult the High Council of the Institute regarding such matters.

And here he was now, swallowing his pride once more. Consulting puny beings regarding a subject they couldn't even understand. Humans were foolish, cowardly beings. Had they not instantly succumbed to fear upon his arrival? Had they not adhered to his will and not even bothered with their useless "judgments"? Personally, Hecarim could not understand why prodding into one's minds could help prove their willpower and worthiness, but the League seemed to think differently. To him, intrusion of one's privacy was nothing, especially since his mind was impregnable to begin with.

He paused, stopping in front of an ornately carved door located between two pillars of Corinthian design. There was a plaque on the door that recognised the owner's identity, carved into the crystalline surface. Names were irrelevant. The position of High Councillor located below the plaque told Hecarim all he ever needed to know.

Without bothering to knock, Hecarim continued, pushing open the door. Vessaria...Kolminye, he vaguely remembered from reading the plague. The "High Councillor".

She who met Hecarim's gaze was unlike any he had ever met before. Kolminye was a severe, masculine woman, more suited for the role of a warrior than work in the robes of an hair ended shortly in a fringe, and her eyes displayed nothing but irritance, instead of the fear Hecarim expected.

"Yes?" she demanded frankly of the brazen newcomer.

"I seek entry to the Twisted Treeline," the centaur stated, meeting the Councillor's gaze. "Alone. None must disturb me, for my business there is strictly private."

"Well!" Kolminye seemed amused by the champion's request. 'While I see nothing wrong in that, you very presence is one of strong concern. You are of the Shadow Isles, are you not?"

Hecarim's eyes flickered dangerously, warning the woman of her fate should she not concede. "I did not come all the way here to get a declination, woman. Keep in mind that my question was not a request. I demand of it."

Kolminye's smirk extended to a grin as she silently chuckled under her breath, not at all unnerved. "And what makes you think I will concede, Avatar-no, Shadow of War? You forget the Institute is capable of leashing superior powers. While your case is certainly unique, you would be foolish to claim it as beyond the capabilities of the Institute to restrain you. So what is your purpose?"

"You insult me, summoner." Hecarim's eyes closed, extinguishing themselves of the ghostly flames. "While you may have your doubts, we are not the nihilistic fools you believe us to be. To destroy the world and plunge everything into chaos is the last thing we wish. As for my purpose, I wish nothing but have a private sojourn with both of the altars."


End file.
